“Bye,” I say long after the call ends.
Scrolling past my hidden “Heavy Metal” playlist, I settle for some Casting Crowns. I need to get my head on, and I know these guys get it. They get where I am, even if I don’t know how much I jive with their message. It’s not that I’m questioning my belief in God, or Jesus, or whatever, but seeing what my family has been put through in the past few years leaves me wondering.
Why?
My dad used to be a good guy. A hard working, Bible-loving, family man of a good guy. Then, just like that … gone. Everything I revered in him and believed to be true was washed away. Why would God do that to me? To test my belief? Nearly destroy my whole family just to test my belief? Not to mention my mother’s and sister’s?
“Girlfriend?” The woman across the aisle from me speaks up.
“Excuse me?” I ask politely.
She nods to my phone. “Was that your girlfriend?”
I shake my head. “Just a friend. My best friend,” I say out loud for the first time.
A sweet smile crosses her lips. “Yet,” she says.
“What?”
Shaking her head slightly, she goes back to her book. “Nothing. Sorry for butting in.”
“Not at all, ma’am.” I dial up my accent and southern charm. Her accent sounds about as far north as Kennedy’s does, so I know this could go one of two ways, but I’m counting on Hollywood’s romanticism of Southern boys to take over.
She takes the bait and smiles at me. “Keep that up with her, and she’ll be your girlfriend in no time.”
Grinning, I click play and adjust my earbuds before leaning my head against the window. No matter what ends up happening with Kennedy and I in the future, I desperately need a friend right now. More than I ever have.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I’m Letting Go
Kennedy.
Thankfully, the drunken, scorned lover was the most exciting thing that happened on my trip. I was able to sleep several hours straight last night, thanks to my earbuds, neck pillow, and eye mask, and even though we’ll be pulling into the Stamford station in a few minutes, I managed to snag a cup of coffee from the dining car. I need to be awake enough to order at Starbucks, which will be my first stop once I get into my mom’s car.
I grin at the horror that would override Asher’s normally straight-faced facade if I told him I plan to spend a hundred dollars, give or take, at the international coffee chain over the course of the next several days. He asked me once, just after he hired me, if I ever drank there. My lack of response was all he needed. He just shook his head, told me that forgiveness was meant for coffee-drinkers, too, and walked away. I guess I should have picked up that he was a Jesus freak then, but I still thought he was joking around with me about my residence up on The Hill. I resolve to get to know him better once I get back to campus. I’ve avoided talk with him about the prison ministry that I know he has, because he hasn’t told me about it. It’s all been second hand information and I don’t want to seem like a weird stalker. But, I’m curious and, if nothing else, I’ve learned it’s best to go straight to the source when you need actual information.
Once inside the station, I’m grateful to shuffle past the luggage carousel and straight to the main area. This is one of the busiest Amtrak stations in Connecticut—save for New Haven—so business people traveling to and from jobs in New York City, and parts of Connecticut are forced to co-mingle with travel-wary Thanksgiving passengers, such as myself. In an effort to cause as little angst for those on their way to work, I keep my head down and head for the front sidewalk, where I arranged for my mom to pick me up. I’m anxious to see her, but hugging in the middle of a thousand stressed out corporate asshats is not my idea of a happy reunion.
Standing outside, I’m less than enthusiastic to have to dig for the thickest sweater I’d packed for myself when heading to Carter. And, admittedly, it’s not thick at all. A cashmere cardigan, that I’ve only worn once on campus, is doing a crappy job of saving my skin from the icy bite of the wind. And snow.
Snow!
Blinking like I’ve never opened my eyes before, my eyes dart around the parking lot and the surrounding trees. My goose bumped skin is taking a back seat to the fresh, glittering snow resting delicately on the branches and blowing in sparkling circles through the parking lot. It’s a sunny day, made blindingly so by the reflective layer of icy snow.
“Snow!” I raise my arms and jump up and down, forgetting momentarily that it doesn’t typically snow this early.
“From around here?” a guy sporting a UC Berkley sweatshirt asks, standing a few feet away from me.
I nod wildly. “I am, but I haven’t seen snow yet this year. I go to school in North Carolina.”
“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head to the side, interested. “Chapel Hill?” he asks of one of UNC’s campuses.